


a door ajar on the top floor

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Past Character Death, Queerplatonic Relationships, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frisk wakes up in a familiar place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a door ajar on the top floor

**Author's Note:**

> _(Happiness is just a life away_ – The trees are half air. They fissure the sky; you could count the leaves, [pare time](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/240658))

You taste iron at the back of your mouth for just a moment, or think you do, as you wake. You run your tongue along the backs of your teeth, and then swallow; the taste is gone. Maybe you just dreamed it.

The surface beneath your hands is soft, but something about it feels off, wrong somehow. You don’t remember what you were doing before you fell asleep. Maybe you were up late working, and someone carried you to bed—

Someone?

Who?

_I’m so sorry,_ a small voice says in the back of your head, a voice that you don’t think you’re supposed to recognize but that you do anyway. _I’m so, so sorry, Frisk._

There’s an unformed question in the haze of your mind, but you can’t pull it together out of the mist. You don’t remember what you’ve been doing or even where you are; your memories are in pieces. Unease tugs at you like you’d tug on someone’s sleeve for attention, sending ripples of worry through the serenity that cradles you like the warm embrace of someone you trust.

You crack your eyes open just enough to squint, and your field of vision floods with golden light.

The shock that hits you is a—is a—you can’t finish the thought, it’s dangerous, but it bowls you over. You lurch upright, nearly fall when your center of balance isn’t where it should be, and faceplant in the flowers when the arms you flail out to catch yourself are too short.

You’re wearing a blue sweater with pink stripes, old shorts, tights and boots. Your right wrist is throbbing, clumsily wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. This place is—you’re in the—

_Do you know who I am?_ the voice in your head asks.

Your skull sears with pain, like it’s going to split apart, because you _shouldn’t know_ and yet, oh, and yet. You definitely shouldn’t have a face to go with the voice (red eyes, warm and sleepy; red-brown hair, soft, flyaway; pale cheeks that flush pink at the slightest provocation; a too-wide awkward smile). That voice shouldn’t even be speaking to you, now—its owner should still be curled into you, not quite awake yet, only becoming fully alert once you’ve left this room and entered the Ruins and met Flowey and Toriel and—

“Chara,” you say, or try to: Your voice barely comes out, it’s nothing but a feeble rush of air. You press your too-small hands to your face. That’s right; this is—this is back when you hadn’t talked in so long, you barely could anymore.

You can feel their relief. The sensation of being embraced intensifies, like they’re doing their best to squeeze you to their chest. But under that pure bright feeling is something else, something cloying.

They’re guilty about something.

_You reset,_ you think at them.

_I’m sorry,_ is all they say back.

_Why did you—how could you reset?_ You’re scrambled up inside, bereft, but under the numbness you can start to feel anger building. _After all those years? We were happy—Mom and Dad and Sans and Papyrus and Undyne and Alphys and everyone—_

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._ Chara’s words run into each other. The feeling of them hugging you drops away, and you can sense them starting to sort of curl away from you, like they’re scared you’ll hurt them. _I didn’t mean to, I swear, I just. I panicked. I couldn’t—I couldn’t even think about going on like that and then I just sort of… It just happened. Please believe me. Believe me. I’m sorry, Frisk. I’m sorry._

You don’t know what else to do, so you put a hand over your own chest, rub at your heart to soothe the pain there even though it’s theirs that’s breaking, not yours. _I’m mad, but I won’t hurt you. What’s going on?_

Chara says nothing for a long while, and you keep rubbing the spot over your heart until they stop sobbing. You hear them draw a long breath and then exhale. _Frisk, do you remember what happened?_

You shake your head. _I can’t even remember much after we left the underground anymore. Just flashes of everybody happy. Growing up together with you and Asriel._ A pang. _We were going to go to college together and everything._

_Frisk, there was._ Ghostly fingers grip at your hand, stroking the ridge of your knuckles before they fold under your palm and squeeze. _Accident._

Iron at the back of your throat. Being struck by something huge and fast-moving. A brief but terrible pain. Taste of iron. Iron.

_Not without you,_ Chara is saying, their voice thick with tears. _Won’t go on without you. You’re the one that taught me. Nobody has to, t-to die. Won’t accept a world without you in it, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. Wasn’t on purpose. But I would’ve done it anyway._

You close your eyes and wrap both arms around yourself. Partly to hug Chara. Partly to comfort yourself. You don’t know how to feel about what you’re hearing.

“Will,” you rasp, before you remember. You’ll have to retrain your atrophied vocal cords to speak yet again, you realize, and you don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. _Will Asriel remember? What about Sans?_

Chara clings tight to you. _I don’t know. We’ve never had to really reset all the way before. I don’t know how this works._ They pause. _If they do remember. I wonder if they’ll understand. Maybe they’ll still never forgive me._

You take a very deep and shuddery breath, think of the enormity of the task ahead of you. Eight years is so huge. It was nearly half your life. Your body is too small and so many of your old scars are gone, maybe for good, and you want to cry like the child you guess you are again now. _Chara, I… I don’t think I can do this again._

_I know. I’m sorry. I know._ They pause to sniffle. You bury your face in your knees, so that if you leak at all it’ll be hidden in your tights. _But it’s better than the alternative._

_I’m so tired, Chara._

_Don’t,_ they cry, nearly hysterical. _Don’t give me that now. I won’t let you. I love you, okay? Asriel’s not my only best friend. You are too. Stay determined. Please. I’ll do this all a hundred million times if I have to. You’re only allowed to die when we’re all old and happy. Don’t you dare give up on me._

You sigh a little. A lot. You chew on your lip. _I know. But I’m really tired._

They’re quiet for a bit, then: _Let’s just go see Flowey and Mom,_ they say. _I still remember all the puzzles, I’ll help. We can get you some spider don’ts and butts pie, and you can take a nap, and if they know what’s going on I can just get yelled at and everything’ll be solved way easier._

_You don’t really want Mom to yell at you, though,_ you say. _You’re scared._

_I’m not scared,_ they bluster back. _Maybe just a little bit. But it’ll be okay. We can do this. We’ve done it before and we can do it again. As many times as we have to. Okay?_

Exhaustion and grief still weigh your body down, but Chara’s just trying so hard to cheer you up that you can’t help but smile a little. _Okay. I guess._

They don’t answer you in words, but their relief wraps around your whole body like a blanket. If they had— _still_ had—their body, you think their grip on you would probably hurt.

_I was scared you’d just want to stay dead,_ they say. _I’d still reset for you a hundred times. A thousand. A million. But it wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t willing to stand up and work with me of your own free will._

You make to reply, and then hesitate.

_Frisk?_

You’re not sure you don’t want that, and that thought is horrifying. You thought—you’d been so sure that your days of wanting to crawl into the earth and stop breathing were already over and gone. But one mistake, one death, and eight whole years of your life have winked out and you’re never getting them back.

_Frisk, I’m so sorry,_ Chara says, and their voice is small and timid, bordering again on tearful. _I just couldn’t stand to let you go._

You hug your knees. _I know,_ you tell them. _I know you just did the best you could. I’m just kind of… overwhelmed. But I love you too, Chara._ And: _I forgive you._

There’s a long pause, and if you reach out to them you can sense their terrified doubt. It’s hard to blame them for it, after everything. But it’s true. Chara was happy, too. They wouldn’t undo everything unless they felt like they really had to. Most of all: It wasn’t their fault you died.

_Butts pie, huh,_ you say, and giggle sort of feebly. You drag yourself up on achy limbs, taking a few steps for practice. _I thought you retired that joke ages ago. It really is terrible._

_You’re smiling, though,_ they reply. You think they sound a little hopeful.

_I am,_ you admit. _Chara?_

_Yeah?_

_Thanks for being my friend._

They squeeze your hand. You take a deep breath and face the road ahead, gathering up every scrap of determination you still possess.


End file.
